When thoroughly embogged, lie. Produce a whopper which will at least make people laugh. And so Sir Keir Starmer told a raucous PMQs that all was well in his Cabinet. ‘This is a united team!’

One side of the chamber duly roared with delighted disbelief. The other cringed. Sir Alan Campbell, Leader of the House, sank in his seat, face grey and waxen. Government Chief Whip Johnny Reynolds tapped a pen agitatedly on his pad of paper. Bridget Phillipson looked as if she might bite the head off the nearest goldfish. And swallow it. She’s not one to let things go to waste.

Behind these ministers, one or two Labour MPs tried to cheer. The rest just stared, arms crossed. They see their Government falling to pieces and wonder: how can things fall apart so fast? Can’t we send Starmer back and ask Ikea for a refund?

Rachel Reeves, who later this month must deliver her Budget, gawped into the middle distance. The Chancellor does not seem entirely with it these days. She floats around the cloisters as if anaesthetised by Valium. When she entered the chamber at 11.57am she was alone. 

There was none of the coterie of fluttering Herberts that usually accompanies a Chancellor. No one rushed up to chat. She had to sidle over to Pat McFadden, the new pensions secretary, to find conversation. Nearby skulked Ian Murray, recently sacked as Scottish Secretary. Enemies are accruing. Certainties are shrinking.

PMQs came at a tricky time for Sir Keir. The previous evening had brought mad, anonymous briefings, clearly from Sir Keir’s intimates, against Wes Streeting. Wes then spent the morning on television and was sparky enough to make the anonymous briefers look stupid. Suspicions fell on Sir Keir’s chief poisoner, Morgan McSweeney, the red-bearded Hibernian fanatic. Was he the one who had tried to assassinate little Streeting?

Mr McSweeney’s wife Imogen Walker (Lab, Hamilton) was in the second row at PMQs. ‘Any attack on any member of my Cabinet is unacceptable,’ cried Sir Keir. And Mrs Walker actually nodded!

Mr Streeting was giving a speech in Manchester, so did not attend PMQs. Sir Keir hailed the ‘brilliant job’ he was doing on NHS waiting lists. Kemi Badenoch suggested that the only waiting list he wished to cut was that for Labour’s leadership.

Talking of which, Angela Rayner stayed away from the session, as did Ed Miliband. Lucy Powell, Labour’s new deputy leader, chose a pointedly prominent seat directly behind Mr Reynolds. Did she spend the session cheering Sir Keir? No. She stayed quite unstirred by his blurting and gibbering and his blinky assertions of solidarity. Ms Powell was being ostentatiously sulky. Moue hiss.

For Mrs Badenoch and her Conservatives, these are days of merriment and cheer. The first question of the day had come from former Army officer Lincoln Jopp (Con, Spelthorne), who recalled that on Remembrance Day in 1997 he was in West Africa where he somehow managed to survive a bloody and violent attempted coup. If the PM wanted any advice on how to do that, ‘he only has to ask’. Sir Keir at least managed to see the joke in that.

But his rapid gesticulations – waving his arms, whacking the despatch box for dramatic stress – betrayed awareness of his hideous plight. He was overdoing the emphasis. Someone asked about dentistry. Sir Keir said it was all the Tories’ fault and he stared hard at the Opposition, saying, ‘they should be ashamed of it. ASHAMED of it!’ The anger felt forced.

Nigel Farage (Ref, Clacton) was stitched up. Someone had obviously told Sir Keir when he was going to be given a question. A Labour backbencher duly teed up, immediately before Mr Farage’s moment, a denunciation of the latest gaffe by some Reform councillor. Mr Farage struggles in the House.

But so, yesterday, did Sir Keir. Shameless porkies only get you so far. The disarray was palpable. So was the embarrassment of his party. How long will they tolerate it?